Fate Forged

by B. P. Donigan

  The final throw landed with a satisfying thud in the exact center of the board.

  I bowed to the crowd, collecting a few laughs and a lot more grumbles. Time to go.

  I stuffed the cash into my pockets and reached for the knives.

  Neck Tattoo grabbed my arm and pulled me around. His face was scrunched in anger. He grabbed for my cash, and I hit him hard in the throat with the heel of my hand. He doubled over in pain, knocking the knives off the table and onto the floor.

  “Cheating bitch!” he coughed, reaching for them.

  I swore and reached for the closest knife. The scene was about to get ugly.

  Silas appeared from the crowd, kicked the knives out of Neck Tattoo’s reach, and pushed me toward the exit all in one movement.

  I stared after the beautiful set of blades as they scattered across the wood floor.

  Silas gave me another push.

  It was a damn shame to lose my prize, but I didn’t have a choice. I made it out the front door and ten steps into the parking lot before the angry crowd spilled out behind me. The bouncer was conveniently nowhere to be found—and neither was Silas.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Neck Tattoo yelled.

  I eyed the distance to the car. It figured Silas would bail when I could actually use his help. I raised my hands, palms up. “Hey, I won the bet fair and square.”

  “We don’t let cheats take our money.” He closed the distance between us with angry strides.

  “I don’t want a fight,” I said, backing toward the car. I regretted that I had let Silas talk me into leaving Ripper behind.

  “Too late,” Neck Tattoo growled, killing my hope of a clean exit. He reached for me.

  I ducked, kicked him in the thigh, and swore. I’d shifted my kick in order to keep from spearing him with my heel and tapped his thigh instead of nailing him in the crotch. I kicked off the heels in frustration.

  “Back down,” Silas commanded, pushing people aside as he made his way through the crowd.

  Neck Tattoo lost all interest in me as he faced the bigger threat. He stood several inches shorter than Silas but outweighed him by at least forty pounds of beer belly. He tried to push Silas out of the way. Silas knocked his arms aside and pushed the other man hard enough that he stumbled back from the force.

  I kicked the side of Neck Tattoo’s knee. I heard a loud pop before he fell to the ground, yipping in pain.

  Silas looked at me with surprised disbelief. He was a trained fighter with the appropriate height, weight, and skill to take on someone like Neck Tattoo. I, on the other hand, was a slender, five-foot-five woman with anger issues. No one expected me to do anything to take care of the problem, and that was their mistake.

  Silas slapped Ripper’s hilt into my hand and faced the crowd.

  I stared at the knife in surprise. I had truly expected him to insist on doing the fighting. But he’d handed me the knife, fully accepting that I could handle myself. Unless he just wanted me to get the beating he no doubt believed I deserved. Honestly, his motivations were a complete mystery to me.

  One of Neck Tattoo’s buddies in a bulky leather jacket took the first swing. Silas ducked and, with a precise movement that revealed his experience in hand-to-hand fights, landed a vicious cross-punch to Leather Jacket’s jaw. The force of the blow knocked the other man off-balance, and he spun halfway around before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

  Two more bikers jumped Silas. A third man with a bandana tied around his head grabbed me by the arm.

  I twisted and jabbed Ripper at his face, fully intending to redecorate his features if he didn’t let me go. He dodged but couldn’t get away from the follow-through kick I slammed into his ribs.

  Bandana stumbled backward with the air knocked out of him. I hit him with an open-handed chop to his windpipe. He doubled over, gasping for breath, and I finished the job by sweeping his feet from under him. I flipped my grip on Ripper, ready to react if Bandana decided to get up, but he stayed down, gagging for air.

  Silas’s own fight took down three of Neck Tattoo’s friends. The whole incident took less than ten seconds.

  Silas bared his teeth at the others, obviously eager for more. “Anyone else?”

  The crowd apparently didn’t want to get their asses handed to them. They dragged their buddies back into the bar, including my friend Neck Tattoo with his shattered knee cap, and we made a hasty escape to the car. I left them my shoes as a souvenir.

  Once we were safely inside the vehicle, Silas let his anger loose on me. “What in all five sodding hells were you thinking back there? You almost lost your winnings.”

  “I didn’t lose. I have excellent throwing skills.”

  His eyes narrowed. The heat of his anger disappeared, transforming into suspicion. “You are surprisingly accurate and steady in a fight. Who trained you in hand-to-hand?”

  I shifted in my seat. “No one. I’m not trained in anything.”

  “You’re definitely trained,” he insisted. “But I’m not sure of the style. It’s reminiscent of the Pri Tai methods but with Earthen mixed-martial influences. Definitely intended for close combat with a weapon.”

  “Look, I can hold my own in a street fight, but I never studied Pad Thai or whatever.”

  “It’s called Pri Tai, and it’s the basis of Guardian combat techniques. And clearly, you have.”

  “No, I haven’t. Scout’s honor.” I held up my fingers in the universal scout salute.

  He didn’t seem impressed.

  “I told you about the crazy memories I got from Marcel. Maybe I picked up some of his... training?” The idea sounded flimsy, even to me. I was good with a knife—I’d been handling them for over a decade—but even I couldn’t explain the way I’d reacted on instinct.

  “That’s... possible,” Silas said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  Even if he didn’t believe me, I hadn’t been trained anywhere but the street school of hard knocks to the head. It was time to distract Silas from his wild theories, especially since he already didn’t trust me. “Thanks for kicking ass back there. I’m sorry I cut it so close.”

  He shook his head as we pulled onto the road. “Dodging a few punches hardly qualifies as kicking ass.”

  “The good news is that thanks to your ability to dodge punches—and my mad skills—we’ve got enough cash for plane tickets to Alaska. One Fate’s Temple, coming up.”

  Chapter Eight

  Silas was borderline rude to me as we boarded the plane and settled into our seats. The perpetual grimace was back.

  Watching him fumble with his seat belt, I had an epiphany. “Is this your first time on an airplane?”

  “This is a ridiculously Mundane way to travel,” he complained, finally managing to latch the buckle.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” I assured him sweetly, tossing him the safety brochure. “Read that. And if we make it up in the air, they’ll bring you a snack.”

  Silas frowned. “If?”

  I couldn’t contain my snickering, and Silas’s exasperated sigh was my reward.

  After takeoff and the promised pack of roasted peanuts, which Silas deemed acceptable, the flight attendants started an in-flight movie. They were showing one of those epic box office thrillers full of battles, star-crossed lovers, and general intrigue designed to appeal to everyone.

  Right in the middle of an on-scene kiss between the leads, Silas leaned over to me and stage-whispered, “Do you know this is fictional?” His tone was mocking.

  “I’m aware of that,” I snapped.

  “Then why are you emotional?”

  “You’re making me miss the best part,” I hissed.

  He stayed quiet for barely a minute. “Do Earthens enjoy these stories?”

  I opened my mouth with the intention of giving him a smackdown, but his face was earnest. He seemed curious.

  “Don’t you have movies in”—I looked around before dropping my voice—“where you come from?”

&nbs
p; “No.”

  Of course not. I pulled out the earbuds, resigned to missing the best part of the movie. He wasn’t going to let up. “It’s called suspended disbelief.” I was proud that I remembered the term from the elective cinematography class I’d taken in high school. At the time, I had signed up because I got to watch movies during class. I’d enjoyed the class and still remembered a lot. “It’s when you let yourself believe that something is real so you can experience the emotions of the story.”

  He glared doubtfully at the little screen. “What is emotional about this?”

  I tried to decide if he was mocking me. The actors weren’t that bad. “Her family is making her marry this guy she doesn’t love, and the man she loves is going off to this battle, where he’ll probably die.” I frowned. “They never even had a chance.”

  He sat back in his seat, his face unreadable.

  I sighed and turned back to the screen. I didn’t know why I expected him to understand. At least the questions stopped. We watched in silence until the big epic battle scene at the end of the movie. The good guys gathered to fight against overwhelming odds with a small chance they might pull it off. The main character was ready to face off with the bad guy when Silas started snorting next to me, holding back laughter.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “See that archer—the arrows on his back? The first time he bent over, or ran for that matter, those arrows would fall out. It’s ludicrous.” He folded his arms across his lap, his face smug. “Anyone who’s used a bow would know that. And the way he’s holding it...” He made a noise of disbelief.

  “They’re actors. Who cares?” I whispered angrily at him.

  “They should at least try to make it realistic. Performers in Aeterna convey their stories much more articulately than these movies.”

  “Seriously? Give it a rest. The actors are just supposed to look good!”

  “That’s another thing. I don’t understand the Earthen obsession with physical appearance. Why should an attractive face equate to fame and wealth?”

  “Says the guy walking around looking like this.” I waved my hand around his strong jawline and high cheekbones. Surely, he’d benefited from his rugged good looks all his life.

  Silas raised his eyebrows with a smug half-smirk.

  I flamed red. Kill me now.

  “Do you find me attractive?”

  “Shut up.” I turned back to the screen. Even my ears were burning in shame.

  Silas didn’t waste the opportunity to embarrass me. He leaned in to whisper in my ear, and I stifled the urge to smack him for also smelling good. “Do you?”

  I wanted to tell him he was an ugly bastard, but the words got stuck in my throat. I could strangle him right now. “You know what I think about you.” I sank enough venom into my voice to make it clear what I meant, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  He laughed, and I avoided looking at him until my face returned to a normal color. The movie finished a while later, but I didn’t even notice if the star-crossed lovers ended up together.

  THE SUN CHASED AWAY the predawn shadows and bathed the snow-covered Alaskan mountains in millions of icy sparkles. On every side, peaks soared like giants above our heads. Their ridges rose and banked at sharp angles, high above where even the scrappy evergreen trees could survive.

  We’d secured a beater of a car in Anchorage for five hundred in cash, leaving us another four hundred for gear and gas. The car was pretty much held together by duct tape, and the heater blew lukewarm air, but it made the ninety-minute drive from the airport to Wasilla. After a quick stop for supplies, we were ready for the two-day trek that Silas assured me would get us to the Fate’s temple.

  With a hiker’s hut a little more than halfway through the journey and a good map to guide us, we didn’t have to carry quite as many supplies or a tent. I pulled the thick coat tighter around me and stomped onto the cold, hard ground at the head of the trail.

  A tiny bubble of happiness built in my chest. Titus couldn’t follow us if we weren’t using serious magic, and he would never think to go to this remote mountain range in Alaska when he’d last seen us outside of New York State. The Fate was less than forty-eight hours away, and that meant all my magic problems would be gone soon.

  Silas loaded the last of our supplies into his backpack then cinched the waist and chest straps tighter over his down coat, securing the weight evenly across his upper body. He took in the majestic scenery with an assessing gaze. “Let’s go.”

  We hiked for almost three hours, heading steadily uphill along the mountain path. The thin air made breathing difficult. My shoulders were already stiff from the weight of the pack, and my feet were sure to develop blisters by the end of the day. Silas had called this an easy hike, and I wanted to smack him already. The path got rockier, winding past frozen ponds. I glanced up at the sun. All day, misty rain peppered us before clearing out suddenly, leaving only cool mountain air. I considered stripping off a layer or two, but the unpredictable weather left me in a strange state between sweaty and shivering.

  “How far do you think we’ve gone?” I asked.

  “About five miles. Should be a little over halfway to the hut. You set a good pace.”

  I hid my surprise at the unexpected compliment and tucked my water bottle back into the pack. The ground we had already covered was breathtaking. At the bottom of the valley, a wandering river rushed between two steep cliff faces, carving a path around boulders the size of buses. Ahead of us, far into the distance, patches of ice were nestled between impassable valleys, glinting sharply in the falling sun. At least the scenery was worth the effort.

  We progressed slowly as the path wound higher and became more treacherous. My legs ached, but with Silas on my tail, my pride wouldn’t let me slow down. My feet slipped on loose shale, and I had to scramble up a tremendous incline on all four limbs over what the map aptly identified as Heartbreak Hill. It reminded me of a famous stretch of inclining trail in the Boston Marathon called by the same name. God, I missed that city with its cobbled streets and brick buildings. Alaska was beautiful, but I couldn’t wait to get home.

  Five hours in, a spectacular sunset spread over the sky, and I paused to catch my breath. Our warm breath frosted in the air as the sun’s heat faded. I hoped we found the hiker’s hut soon before it got too dark and cold. We would freeze if we had to sleep outside without any shelter.

  “My people haven’t lived here for thousands of years,” Silas whispered, his eyes locked on the distant sun setting over the mountains. “And my source is so far from this realm, I feel as though I’m suffocating. But still... it calls to me.” He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sky. For a moment, with the sun setting across his face, he was serene.

  I lifted my face to the horizon. “There is... something.” The majestic landscape held the peace of uninterrupted nature, and beyond that, a connection with something bigger than myself. It was more than the agelessness of the mountains, the energy of the river below, the fresh feel of the trees. It was magic and life.

  His expression was still soft and relaxed. “Can you feel it too?”

  White strands of magic flow around me, dancing through the air in complex patterns.

  “Can you feel it?” a woman’s voice asks gently.

  I reach out for the energy and feel it flex with my call. I pull it into threads and weave them together in a tapestry. The tapestry becomes a shape, which layers into a conjuring. It’s effortless, familiar, like breathing.

  “The source will always be a part of you,” she whispers, “no matter how far you are from home.”

  As the memory faded, I released a soft breath. It had been a while since I’d had a flashback, but that one had been surprisingly comforting, which was a rarity in Marcel’s memories. Before Silas noticed my lapse of awareness, I zipped up my jacket and returned to the trail, eager to get to the hut before it got dark.

  We rounded a corner and saw it:
a hut roughly the size of my basement apartment back in Boston. Cheery, bright-red paint covered the building. A steeply gabled, Christmas-green metal roof sat on top. The clerk at our supply stop had told us they were brightly painted to make them easy to see in winter, but the intensity of the color still surprised me. From the edge of a hill, the hut had a spectacular view of the whole mountain range and the Little Susitna River at the bottom of the valley.

  The inside was clean and dry with two sets of bunk beds on the first floor. A ladder led to the second level and a loft sleeping space. A small table built out from the wall held some basic supplies and a book for visitors to sign. Silas pulled out our dinner rations, while I flipped through the pages of handwritten notes dating back to the seventies. This particular hike was hard, and apparently out of the way enough, so it didn’t take long to flip through the entire book.

  The day’s exertion caught up to me as I ate my way through beef jerky and pre-cooked beans. Even though I was used to working long hours on my feet, the hike had taken a toll. I would be sore and stiff the next day.

  Silas laid out his sleeping bag on one of the bunks and folded himself onto the ground in front of it, his legs crossed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, setting up my own bed.

  “I need to reconnect to the source.” His magic flared before he closed his eyes. With his hands on his knees and his brow relaxed, he looked as though he were meditating.

  I crawled into my sleeping bag and stared, equally fascinated by the gentle patterns of energy around him and his relaxed features. I watched as the magic shifted into complex, multi-layered patterns that flowed around him and formed something almost solid-looking with their golden energy. The gentle buzz of his magic seemed to tickle along my skin, raising goose bumps under my long sleeves. Compared to the simple ball he’d formed earlier in the motel, this conjuring was more complex.